Old Stuff
by Nishinn
Summary: Maybe rifling through Stan's and Ford's old stuff wasn't the thing to do to find some decorations. It worked out pretty well for Dipper and Mabel, though. Older!Pines. Gravity Falls future. WARNING: angsty and nostalgic


**So this story was from a request on Tumblr! I also have a bunch of fics coming up from Tumblr requests! And to all those waiting on updates from my other fics, I can tell you that Broken is getting an update soon. :3 ((For anyone who wants to check out my tumblr, my url is _eranishxd_ and blog name is _Random in the Fandom ))_**

 **I don't own gravity falls, and thanks to anon for the request!**

 **So this is Older! Pines, set in the future of Gravity Falls that i think it would be XD.**

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Summary: Maybe rifling through Stan's and Ford's old stuff wasn't the thing to do to find some decorations. It worked out pretty well for Dipper and Mabel, though.

 **Title:** **"Old Stuff"**

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Heh… it hasn't even been that long ago and everything's covered in dust.

The ear-piercing sound of metal grinding against rusted slates sounded through the now empty gift shop. I shoved harder, forcing the flickering metal box open. Apparently, punching in the familiar code wasn't enough to crack open the chamber of secrets hidden beneath the Shack. For the first time in a long while, I had to use brute force.

I grunted each time my shoulder hit the rusted metal. I counted every little inch the old vending machine gave way.

 _Seven…eight…nine—_

"Gahh!"

The hunk of metal slipped completely, crumpling loudly into a rusted pile at my feet—and I'd almost fallen with it. I had my hand on the wall, trying to regain my breath. Only a few inches away was the gaping maw of darkness in which I knew there was a stairwell waiting, covered in years and years' worth of dust.

It was quite laughable, actually; the Shack had always been prone to dust. I remembered constantly having to dust off the knick-knacks in Stan's office, finding the same intense consistency of dust spread over the shelved items each week. I'd even chalked it up to some sort of ancient ghost or entity that brought dust in its mourning wake. Who knows? It _could_ still be something of the sort…

"Hey, Bro-Bro! You in here?" Came the holler from the hallway. I sighed, straightening up. I turned around to find Mabel's braid-infested head poking out the side of the doorway, the purple scruff of her turtleneck only slightly visible.

Nothing has really changed much with her. She loved putting unnaturally colored things into her hair, braiding them even, and still wore matching headbands and sweaters. She kept her cheery aura and bright smile, minus her old braces though.

Hah. We'd spent so many summers in this very place, all her smiles here with those braces, and now she seemed incomplete to look at. It was like a re-doing of an art piece, almost the same but… something was missing. As though something changed, had been forgotten…

…or left behind.

I gave a little smile as she walked into the room. She stood silent for a minute, sparkling eyes watching me in the dim light. Her gaze lingered on the collapsed vending machine for a moment, before shifting back towards me.

"You know, Melody's going to be pretty upset if you leave that vending machine there with that exposed black hole for all the customers walk through tomorrow." Mabel chided, giving me a cheeky smile.

"Haha," I shot back with a smile of my own. "I'll clean it up, don't worry."

Another pause, neither of us saying anything, simply staring at one another. Then Mabel's eyes slipped to the doorway, her mouth parting apprehensively for a question.

"I…" she faltered. Then she coughed, regaining her composure. "So… they kept all the stuff down there, huh?"

"Not all of it," I defended. "Just… most of it."

Mabel turned her chin up, smiling triumphantly as she stalked forward. "Well, dear brother, would you like me to help you out? I mean, come on Bro. You can't rifle through all that stuff alone." She set her elbow on my shoulder, now a tad bit hard for her to accomplish, seeing as I was three inches taller now.

Heh. Puberty had its perks.

"Fine. Whatever, Short-stuff," I teased, fishing a flashlight out from my pocket.

Mabel huffed in return, setting her hands on her hips in a ridiculously sassy pose. She rose a fist level with my throat, and for a second I thought she was going to punch me. "Mystery Twins?" she said, holding out for a fist-bump.

Sure, childish, but you can never take childishness away from _Mabel._ And, admittedly, neither can you take any away from me. We may have been pre-teens that first summer, but every fiasco-filled day we spent growing up together in this very Shack still filled me with that rush of adventure and freedom, something Mabel would see as childishness. And, over the years, learning the horrible truth of how it was to be an adult, I supposed that 'childishness' would always be something I came back to. The both of us.

I raised my fist to hers. "Mystery Twins."

I coughed—and might have gagged a bit—at the amount of dust that filled my nostrils. I could hear Mabel's equally intense coughing as her fingers fumbled the wall for a light switch. Eventually, a resounding _click!_ Echoed through the room as dim fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead.

"Ford's old lounge," Mabel declared through watering eyes, not from the nostalgia so much as the dust. "We should've bought masks or something."

"Or at least a hanky," I offered, waiting for a bit as the dust settled. This was _far_ too much dust for such a short amount of time.

It's only been a year! Everything here seemed to have spent eternity under their covers, within their bags, on their places on the shelves and tables, to be covered in this intense an amount of dust. It was nearly unbelievable. But then again, the Mystery Shack itself had a good number of unbelievable secrets.

I looked toward the walls, noting the rusted hooks still embedded above from which about a dozen portraits of a certain three-sided demonic corn chip hung several years ago. Now there were only boxes, shelves, and unruly stacks of random item after random item. There were also a few old and tattered maps and posters clinging forgotten on some spaces.

"So," Mabel chirped, walking further into the room. "How much you wanna bet this is mostly Grunkle Stan's stuff?"

"Well _duh_ it's all Stan's stuff," I said, picking up an old wooden baseball bat. "Ford would have someone's head if any of his stuff were crushed with the weight of all these." I set down the bat in favor of an old, black suitcase as Mabel swung open a large wooden chest next to me.

"This is all Stan's, alright…." Mabel muttered, shuffling thoroughly through her newfound treasure trove. "So, DipDop," she grunted, heaving something out of the way. "What're we looking for anyway?"

"Good stuff," I told her, peaking into a cardboard box stacked on top of three more. "Melody thought the living spaces could use some more…. hominess. I just thought Stan's and Ford's old stuff might do the trick."

Mabel snorted, looking up at me from her wooden chest. "Really? You want to display their old stuff in the living room just 'cause you thought they'd look pretty?"

I shrugged, not saying a word more.

I let myself get carried away in rifling through Stan's old belongings. Some of them were random knick-knacks I'd seen him steal from places we'd visit on a road trip. A gold-painted figurine—now caked with grime, a glove box he'd stacked some coins into, an old trucker's hat he "found" and kept just because he said it matched with mine, and others of the like.

Stan wasn't… the _best_ person in the world, confronted with the usual standards, anyway. But he was… well, he _did_ sacrifice himself for his family in more ways than one. The whole memory-losing stunt he'd pulled was only one thing—he'd jumped from an explosion several feet high, risked getting eaten by zombies, _and_ faced off against several thugs all to save me and my sister.

"Hey, remember this?" Mabel chuckled, tossing me an old, worn-out suit. It was Stan's Mister Mystery outfit.

"Oh, yeah," I said, feeling the smooth cloth. It was _severely_ worn out, smelling of mothballs and dust. Otherwise, it seemed perfectly fine. "Can't believe he stopped wearing it though."

"He only stopped wearing it last year when…" Mabel's tone grew heavy, her smile faltering.

I tried to flash her a smile of my own as I folded the suit up neatly. I wanted to take this back.

"Oh!" she jumped, watery eyes immediately filled with a gleeful sparkle. "Check this out!" Out of her wooden chest she drew a set of brass knuckles, now slightly rusted and dulled in color. "Stan's old brass knuckles! I thought he'd thrown these away."

"Now _those_ are worth taking back," I smiled, reaching for them. "Oh man, remember that time with the zombies?"

Mabel snorted, smiling coyly. "How could I forget? Man, Stan was pretty badass."

" _Extremely,"_ I declared as we shared a laugh. Our chuckles quieted quickly, however, and Mabel's smile drooped almost instantly. I hated seeing her that way. As much as hated to admit it, it's been happening a lot recently. To the both of us.

"Hey, come on," I nudged her. "Let's see what other treasure we can find."'

I was thankful for her little, lighthearted smile despite how forced it was. "Okay," she said, getting up from her wooden chest. "I'm going to check over there. I've gone through everything in this chest."

Another silence filled the room. I shuffled around the box I'd been checking until I reached the bottom, finding nothing of particular interest. I looked up and let myself scan the room once more. I took in every item on the shelves and tables, and scrutinized the writings on some of the boxes. Something wasn't quite right with those on the far side…

I got closer, shuffling around all the items. No, these weren't all Stan's. Some of Ford's items were in the rooms in the attic, and the others…

"Hey, Mabel, I think some of these are Ford's."

"Well, see if there's anything worthy of decoration," Mabel dismissed me playfully, giving me another cheeky smile. I tried not to roll my eyes this time.

These things weren't his inventions, that much was obvious. The old contraptions were neatly organized in the lab below. These were some of his old belongings—his coats, scarves, sketchbooks and toolboxes. I spotted his old belt, the thick leather one he'd worn when he came out of the portal and on hikes and field missions. I spotted his old frame of glasses as well. The glass was gone now, shattered from a hunting trip during out third summer. He got new ones, but insisted on keeping his old set.

I pocketed the frame.

"Please don't tell me you're using those as decorations."

"Why not? I mean, come on, where else are we going to put them? They'd end up only buried away somewhere again. Besides, don't you think we need a little bit of direct symbolism in this place?"

"What the heck does that even mean? I think the pictures are direct symbolism enough."

Mabel tutted, insistently shoving the snow globes and picture frames to either side of the mantle top, which made a perfect center stage for her intentions. She placed Great Uncle Ford's glassless eyeglass frame and Grunkle Stan's set of brass knuckles side-by-side.

"Seriously," I groaned, reclining on the couch. "We could've used the fez or something."

"Soos uses the fez, remember?" she retorted, standing next to the couch, hands on her hips as she admired her work. "It think they fit. Don't you think so, Melody?"

"I think they look nice and different," replied the older woman, still in her nightgown. The fireplace glowed brightly, the only lighting in the living room, giving the place a warm and content feeling.

Melody set herself down on the sofa opposite mine, gazing at Mabel's handy work. "They look awesome there. I think your Grunkles would've approved." She sighed heavily, stretching her neck stiffly. "Oh man, we're going to have an intense rush of customers this summer. I'm glad you guys came out to help even though-"

"Hey, we come here every summer, remember?" Mabel laughed. "And we're happy to help out. My shop back in Piedmont's doing pretty awesome actually, and Pacifica's keeping a good eye on it, don't worry."

"Yeah," I nodded along. "The research facility's doing well enough too. And summer's always an opportunity for some _self-researching_." I let out a little chuckle. "Besides, it's always fun to help out with you guys here."

Melody smiled sadly, expression seeming more solemn in the flickering light. "Ah, but you both know that wasn't what I was talking about."

Silence settled over us. The fire's quiet crackle and my own steady breathing filled my ears. For a moment, no one seemed to move.

We'd known exactly what Melody was talking about.

"It does hurt," Mabel began, voice soft and tentative. "Seeing all of this, getting filled with nostalgia and all that. But… this is still home. The Mystery Shack is still home. Being able to _feel_ at home in this place, despite how depressing the memories can be, is proof enough." She paused, letting go of that breath she'd been holding in. "It isn't really all that depressing, anyway. The only depressing thing really is the fact that… they're gone… and, well, it happens, I guess. We'll still go here, each and every summer, every day-off we get. You should know that by now, Melody." She let out a little laugh, her sniffle not going by unnoticed.

"Yeah," I agreed. "In fact, I feel like staying here up until New Year. Besides, the research I could get done in this place counts as work, right?" I nudged my sister playfully and was rewarded with a thankful smile. "What do you think, Mabel?"

"Why not?" she laughed, turning to Melody who sat smiling on the sofa. "Pacifica can handle the shop to her liking for the rest of the year. She has things under control."

"You two are adorable, you know?" Melody let out a little chuckle of her own. "Why don't I make us some tea, hm? I'll be right back." She chirped, getting up.

"So…. Until New Year's, huh?" Mabel said after Melody had disappeared into the kitchen.

"Why not?" I shrugged, mocking her earlier statement. She nudged me with another chuckle.

"Stan was always happy the longer we got to stay, anyway," she reminded me. "So yeah, why not? The two grumps would've wanted it."

"Yeah…" I trailed off, gaze shifting to the mantle top where Mabel had the brass knuckles and the glasses sitting side by side. Picture frames dotted around several snow globes and statuettes, spanning from our first summer in Gravity Falls to Soos and Melody's wedding picture. That one showcased every attendee covered in cake and icing after Waddles had, uncannily, started an epic food-fight. A perfect wedding in Melody's opinion.

"You know… those _decorations_ aren't so bad," I admitted, earning a smug smile from Mable which I chose to ignore.

"D'aww!" she cooed. "You know you love me."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered in response, trying to hide a smile of my own. In some weird way, the glass-frames and the brass knuckles made me feel that, no matter what happened, things don't ever really change in the Mystery Shack. It was still home, after all.

-end-


End file.
